


Reese and Jack

by Besin



Series: World Domination and Other Occupations [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Background Marijuana Use, Gen, New Years, Time Travel, Underage Drinking, X-Men AU - Freeform, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 15:58:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3902194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Besin/pseuds/Besin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting away from a party to time travel twenty years in the future without your friends noticing with a package of Reese's and a bottle of Jack isn't as hard as you would think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reese and Jack

“So you’re going to kiss her at midnight?” Stiles clarifies, taking a cursory glance down the hall at the cluster of partying teenagers. Adjusting the mouth of his backpack, he wraps a shirt around a full bottle of Jack before sliding it through the gaping zipper.

“Yeah,” a Latino boy replies, glancing furtively through the fridge before retrieving two Keystones from the top shelf. The beers click pleasantly in his hand. “I just – the time seems right, you know?”

“You’ve been on two dates,” the younger – older? – boy points out. He reaches in to the backpack a bit belatedly, moving a large, flat orange package atop the bottle before zipping it closed. “I’m just saying maybe you’re moving a little fast.”

“A little fast?”

“Yeah. I mean, like, New Years is a time of reflection, and you should… I don’t know. You should be sure or something.”

“Well, I’m sure.”

Stiles sighs, then slaps his hand on the older boy’s shoulder. “In that case, Scott, I wish you all the luck in the-”

There’s a clatter of drums in the adjacent room, driving into the boy’s voice without warning and without mercy, leaving it lost in the din of guitars that follow.

“Band’s here!” Scott shouts over the noise, grinning wide.

Slipping his bag over his shoulders, Stiles insists quickly, “Go find her!” before slipping into the steadily growing crowd in the living room, disappearing into the writhing mass.

Instead of aiming for the mosh pit beginning to form or the open bar, Stiles makes his way further into the house, passing through the halls and shooting for the open back door. A few people are mingling on the porch, the stink of marijuana potent on the breeze. The boy eyes the shed as he passes the group by, a few pairs of distracted eyes following his steps almost obsessively until he steps off the porch, jostling his bag higher on his shoulder. He walks quickly to the shed, hoping the crowd is too high to think much of it.

Glancing at his watch, he winces. The minute hand is four ticks away from the twelve, and as the second hand eases forward he grabs at the lock on the shed’s door. It clicks against the clasp as he shakes it. “Goddammit,” he whispers, hiking his bag higher up on his shoulder. He glances behind him at the crowd of stoners, considering for a moment the possibility of just staying right there, but some look a bit more sober than others.

With not much else to do, Stiles walks around the shed and crawls beneath a bush. The branches are bare of leaves and doesn’t provide much for cover, but at the very least it’s something. He keeps an eye on his watch after that, watching the hands tick down until finally, he can hear dozens of teenagers inside the house counting down.

“Ten, nine, eight, five,” they begin, and Stiles feels the beginning tugs of gravity in his stomach. He can’t make out the rest as his ears begin to roar.

And then there are stars in the water and fish in the sky.

He doesn’t linger. His feet carry him quickly to the door across the room, tugging it open to reveal a familiar hallway and a familiar guard.

“Bag,” the man demands.

Stiles hands it over with a roll of his eyes. “Hey Boyd.”

The guard goes through it quickly, pawing through the contents with a solemn, bored expression. He pulls out the package of Reese’s and asks, “May I?”

“One,” Stiles insists. “And I hope Erica’s not too pissed you’re missing New Years.”

“Oh, she’s passed out by now,” Boyd tells him dryly, popping open the bag and snatching an individually wrapped sweet from inside. “Meds put her right out at the end of the day.”

“That’s… cool, I guess,” the boy mumbles.

“What’s the Jack for? I know you don’t drink.”

“Lydia,” Stiles admits quietly. “She requested it.”

Glancing down the hall, Boyd narrows his eyes momentarily at the cameras before turning back to Stiles. “I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again,” he begins softly. “Don’t trust any of your bosses. Ms. Martin especially.”

“Dude, you know I can’t do the whole ‘pretending to be your friend but I’m not’ thing. I’m too weird for that.” Grabbing at his bag as it is offered to him, Stiles slides it over his shoulder and salutes the guard with a grin. “Happy New Year.”

Boyd mumbles something back something that might be, “Happy New Year,” but could just as easily be, “Crappy new career.”

Jogging happily down the hall toward the Tank room, Stiles slides through a door and greets Lydia with a smile. “The booze train has arrived,” he announces happily, shooting his thumb towards his bag with a smile. He glances uneasily from Lydia to Danny, who’s leaning up against the tank with a soft grin. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Just talking about coding,” the older man brushes off, shifting fully on to his feet.

“Okay…” Stiles trails off, glancing nervously between the two before striding toward Lydia. Dropping his bag over his shoulder and carefully onto the floor, he zips it open to reveal his treasures.

“Motherlode,” Lydia sing-songs, reaching in to pluck a single Reece’s from the torn plastic package. She unwraps it delicately, revealing the cup to the shifting dapples of light from the tank. “Oh my god, I’ve missed you.”

“Reese’s?” Danny reads slowly, confused. “What’s a Reese’s?”

“Dude, you’ve never had a Reese’s?” Stiles gapes.

“They were discontinued ten years ago,” Lydia offers quickly as explanation. “Shut down during the Mars Chocolate Scandal.”

Stiles groans, “Oh my god, spoilers.” Reaching around the package of sweets, the boy slowly unwinds the shirt from the bottle of Jack, revealing it to the room with a vocal fanfare of, “Na-na-na-na!”

“It’s booze, not your first switchblade,” Danny teases quietly.

“Enough with the nerd references,” Lydia announces grandly. Reaching beneath her desk, he retrieves three weathered, chipped coffee mugs and places them happily on the table. “Do me a favor, Stiles, and get me drunk.”

“Will do,” the boy agrees eagerly, grabbing at the cap and giving it a severe twist. It clicks open easily, top giving way and quickly popping into his hands. Rising to his feet, he steps forward to pour into the three glasses.

Lydia grabs the first he fills, pulling it close to her chest. “I thank you for your services,” she toasts him.

Pushing a mug at Danny before grabbing the last one for himself, Stiles settles slowly into a chair. “So, New Years,” he says blandly. “What should we toast to?”

The woman shrugs. “I know what I’m toasting.”

Turning to Stiles, Danny nods. “Me too, I guess.”

“Alright then,” the younger boy laughs. “We each say ours, then take a drink?”

“You start,” Lydia insists.

The boy rolls his eyes. “Fine.” He tilts his glass to the air, grinning wide. “To the past.”

“To the future,” Lydia continues.

“To the Goddess Lono,” Danny finishes.

And when they each take their drink a guard steps into the room, watching them carefully as they lower their glasses and grimace.

“You know, I always wondered,” Stiles begins to admit, nodding his glass toward the armed man at the door. “Are they here for your protection? Or ours?”

“Everyone’s,” Lydia replies quickly, her voice a whisper. “They’re here for everyone.”


End file.
